Christmas With the Billionaire Rancher (2 page)

Through the press of well-wishers and ass-kissers, Chloe caught sight of him. At least, she thought it was him. The picture of the brothers in the
Dallas Morning News
had obviously been several years old. The man she was now looking at resembled that guy. But he was older. Bigger. And projected a hardness that Chloe swore she could feel in the center of her chest. Probably a tough nut to crack. Fortunately for her, she wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

Chloe made her way toward the brothers, taking note of the fact that the accumulated net worth of the people here was enough to buy a country or two. Hell, with the politicians they all likely had in their pockets, it was safe to say they owned
this
country. Chloe had played to crowds like this for years. The rich and powerful loved to have their egos stroked. Unfortunately, she'd made the rounds and most of these people had already given her the cold shoulder—Byron included—which was why she had her sights set on Nathan Christensen. He didn't want his newly acquired wealth. She did. It was a win-win situation.

“I just loved him
so
much, you know?” Chloe stopped short of her goal. She recognized the woman fake-crying into a pile of tissues as Miranda Christensen, Byron's widow. Decked out in a sexy black dress, she looked better suited for a cocktail party than a memorial service. “I gave him the best years of my life, Nate! How could he leave me
nothing
?”

Best years of her life? She was twenty-eight, for crying out loud. A year younger than Chloe. Nathan—
Nate
—listened to her rant with a stoic expression. With shuffling steps, Chloe sidled in closer and hid her curiosity behind the lip of her wineglass.

“He didn't leave you without anything, Miranda. You got the house, the cars, and I know for a fact you've got a bank account with plenty of cash in it.”

“I'll have to sell it all,” she sniffed. “Do you know how expensive it is to maintain a house that size? What was Byron thinking?”

Chloe was pretty sure he'd been thinking with what resided down south.

“Just consider my offer, okay, Nate? I loved Byron. And
I
was there for him at the end.”

Oh, I bet you were
. Chloe snorted a little too loudly.
Right underneath him
.

Miranda whipped around, her dark eyes glistening as she narrowed her gaze. The former social climber threw off enough shade to make Chloe wish she'd worn a sweater. Nate Christensen turned his head in the direction that Miranda directed her anger. Chloe froze and clutched the wineglass closer to her mouth to keep it from falling open. Up close, Nate Christensen was absolutely breathtaking.

Tall, and with a body packed with muscle that seriously stress-tested his dark gray dress shirt, he stood out among the crowd of leisurely wealthy. Dark brown hair brushed his brow in the front and the sides were buzzed short, giving him an edgy look. His nose looked as though it had been broken at one point, a tiny bump below the bridge that gave it away. Sharp cheekbones accentuated his full lips and strong jaw. But none of those godlike features held a candle to his eyes. The most beautiful shade of hazel she'd ever seen, and clear as a river in midsummer.

Chloe had never been the sort of woman to get weak in the knees over a good-looking guy, but holy crap. She wobbled on her stilettos as if the shock of his gorgeousness had temporarily disrupted her motor skills. Heat rose to Chloe's cheeks and the flush spread down her neck. Her heart rate kicked into gear and fluttered against her rib cage at the same time her stomach decided to crawl up her throat. Heat continued to swamp her as she studied him, her attraction almost embarrassing in its intensity. Guys like Nate Christensen hung out with supermodels. Willowy, bottle blond socialites. Starlets. Guys like that didn't date overworked charity administrators who didn't have the time for a walk let alone a personal trainer, and the hips and belly to prove it.

While Miranda and Nate continued their conversation in hushed tones, Chloe waited for an in. She usually had time to prepare, to research the fat cat she was about to butter up. Byron Christensen's death had been sudden, and the only information she had on his oldest son was that he'd been estranged from his dad for years. That and he had no interest in his family's wealth. Fine by her. She was more than willing to take some of that money off his hands. All she had to do was convince him that she deserved it.

“That money should be mine and you know it, Nate. Call me tomorrow and let's talk.”

Chloe nearly choked on her chardonnay as Miranda brushed a hand along his arm and gave Nate a flirty smile in parting.
Really? At your husband's memorial service?
Byron Christensen's widow was
klassy
with a capital K. Nate watched her go, his expression an impassive mask that gave nothing away. He shifted his focus and that inscrutable hazel gaze locked with Chloe's. A shiver of anticipation traveled from her head to her toes as he studied her. Chloe had never felt more devoured by a simple glance and it wasn't altogether unpleasant. A renewed rush of heat spread from her abdomen, lower. She took a deep breath, held it in her lungs. And let it all go in a rush.

It was now or never. Time to make her move.

Two

Nate turned toward the woman who'd been eavesdropping on his conversation with Miranda. He'd meant to intimidate her, to stare her down until she got the fucking message that he wasn't about to let some rich-bitch Dallas party girl spread any more gossip about him or his family. Whatever he felt about his dad or Miranda, it was
his
business and no one else's.

God, he was already so
sick
of this bullshit.

His gaze locked with hers and he prepared to give her his best fuck-off glare. Instead, Nate simply stared. His blood heated as he took her in. Pinup gorgeous with rich auburn hair, full lips, and a curvy figure that filled out her business-casual outfit in all the right ways. Her full breasts practically spilled from the open lapels of her shirt and the generous curve of her hips made Nate itch to reach out and grip them. He clamped his jaw down to keep it from hanging open as a rush of pure lust shot through his bloodstream. She hit every single one of his
yes please!
buttons and his dick perked up like a hound scenting fresh game. He didn't even know who she was and he wanted her. Their eyes locked and rather than look away, she met his gaze with a brazen challenge that fanned the flames of his mounting libido.

Nate forced himself to appear impassive when what he really wanted was to reach out and touch. A woman like that could bring a man to his knees and Nate was more than up to showing her what he could do for her from that exact position. Rather than tuck tail at his forced stoicism, she squared her shoulders and stepped up to him. Ballsy. And not at all what Nate expected.

“I'm sorry about your father,” she said without preamble. “But between you and me, he could be a real ornery bastard.”

Nate canted his head to one side as he regarded her, careful to keep his expression stern and emotionless. “So, you knew him?” He appreciated someone being straight up with him for a change.

“No,” she replied in that same guileless tone. “We spoke a couple of times on the phone. Then again, I did tell his secretary that I was pregnant with his baby in order to get past the gatekeepers. It might have had something to do with why we got off on the wrong foot.”

A smile tugged at Nate's lips but he didn't give in to his amusement. “Probably.” In a sea of pretentious windbags and vapid, bottle blond daddy's girls, this one was a breath of fresh air. Her dark auburn hair was piled atop her head in a haphazard mess that made Nate wonder if she'd rolled out of bed and into her car. Freckles dotted her nose and dusted her cheeks, accentuating the deep emerald green of her eyes. Her full lips were glossy, but not painted on like most of the women here. She wasn't made up or overdone. It might have been the beer talking, but her fresh face and brash sincerity was exactly what Nate needed right now.

“I'm Chloe by the way.” She held out her hand. “And you are the infamous Nathan Christensen.”

His brow knitted. “Nate. I hadn't realized that my infamy elevated me to no-introduction-needed status.”

Chloe smiled. An open, friendly expression that tugged at the center of Nate's chest. “Being a Christensen comes with its own brand of notoriety.”

She had that pegged. Likewise, being a Christensen didn't always attract the sort of woman that Nate was interested in spending time with. He didn't have the time or the patience for Dallas high society. The women who fished that pond were as fake as their plastic surgery and wanted a man with a bulging wallet and one who wasn't carrying a closet's worth of emotional baggage.

“How so?” Her voice was naturally sensual, almost a purr and Nate couldn't help but wonder what it would sound like in the grips of passion. His heart raced just imagining it. He didn't want their conversation to end. Chloe was quick on her feet and her honesty was a fresh breath in the stale air.

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh, come on. Like you all don't know that you're the black sheep of this herd.”

Nate smirked. “I'd say you're in the right company then.”

Her eyes widened with feigned innocence. “What could possibly prompt you to think such a thing?”

Cheeky
. Nate appreciated sarcasm. And in Chloe, it was goddamned attractive. His gaze swept her once again from head to toe with appreciation. Black heels, black pencil skirt that hugged her voluptuous curves in a way that was practically lewd. Crisp, pinstriped dress shirt with the top buttons left undone to tease him with the ample swell of her breasts. The heels brought her almost to his height and he liked that she wasn't another waifish socialite. His plan up until now had been to drink and continue to drink until he was so shitfaced that his brothers would have to carry him out of here. Nate had been so on edge for the past week that it was a wonder he hadn't gone off the deep end. He needed a release. Something to take the edge off. Maybe instead of using alcohol to numb the ache in his chest, he could fuck the emptiness out of his system.

“Why did you tell my dad's secretary you were pregnant with his baby?” It gave Nate a perverse sense of satisfaction to think of his dad's chains being rattled.

She gave him a sheepish grin that caused Nate's gut to clench. “I'd been trying to get ahold of him for weeks. His secretary shot me down every time I called, so I switched up my tactics.” Her gaze turned devilish and a rush of liquid heat shot through Nate's veins. “She put me through without asking a single question.”

His dad's reputation as a lecherous son of a bitch was pretty well-known. He liked his women young and tight. Arm candy he could drag all over town. That his secretary wouldn't bat a lash at the notion his dad had a mistress on the side left a sour taste in Nate's mouth. His dad had professed to Nate and his brothers that he'd been faithful to their mom until the day she died. In the back of his mind, however, Nate had always doubted the truth of it.

“So you weren't sleeping with him?”

Her insulted glare caused Nate's lips to twitch in an almost smile. “No way. I run a charity organization that provides sports programs for underprivileged and at-risk kids. A girl's gotta pay the bills and Byron seemed to have the cash to spare.”

Nate snorted. His dad was a tightfisted son of a bitch. He didn't have to ask Chloe how the conversation went to know that he'd shot her down. “Somehow, I doubt you're here to thank us for Dad's generous donation.”

Her mouth turned down in an almost pout that made her bottom lip deliciously full. “Not exactly.”

Holy shit, did he want to bite that lip and then lick the sting away. “Maybe your tactics sucked.”

Her mouth opened in shock but her eyes sparked with mischief. “Are you suggesting I rubbed your dad the wrong way?”

“I'm suggesting you need to learn more about your targets. Don't you know that the Christensens are notoriously disdainful of people looking for a handout?” Which was precisely why Nate was considering off-loading his inheritance. The last person he wanted a handout from was the one man who'd ruined his life.

*   *   *

Her first assessment of Nate had been pretty spot-on. He was a tough nut to crack. His gaze had warmed from a cold, emotionless death glare to something altogether hotter, though. It sparked a warm glow in Chloe's stomach that steadily built to a slow burn. After talking to Nate, she realized that she was going to have to play this closer to the hip than she'd anticipated.

Notoriously disdainful of people looking for a handout.
She didn't have much time to charm a sizeable donation from Nate, but it seemed she had no choice but to be patient. If she hit him up now, he might just tell her to fuck off—his earlier stare had certainly implied as much—and she couldn't risk letting him slip through her fingers.

“So you're saying I would have gotten farther with him if I'd actually been pregnant with his baby?”

Nate burst out into a round of cynical laughter. He motioned for a cocktail waitress and scooped a flute of champagne off her tray and handed it to Chloe. “Probably.” She took the glass from his outstretched hand and tried to keep her gaze from lingering on the muscles that flexed over his forearm. “Can you believe this spread?” He indicated the room at large with his bottle. “Any excuse for these people to get out and be
seen
.”

Nate wasn't at all what she'd expected. He was like the anti–Byron Christensen. There wasn't a stuck-up bone in his body. “It's a little swankier than the memorial services I've been to,” Chloe admitted. “I suppose his friends wanted to send him off in style.”